Rebecca and Rowena
by And All The Sea Were Ink
Summary: Post HBP. The Ravenclaw Horcrux has lain hidden for decades, but now that Harry Potter is after it, Voldemort must make use of a young woman who doesn't even remember this world... Please review, thanks!


"Well, from what I hear, I just say he should've killed her."

The young man speaking was squatting on the wooden floor of a dusty and obviously disused room, lit only by a few flickering candles at each of the cardinal directions. He was engrossed in chalking a circle perhaps three meters in diameter, his tongue sticking out just slightly in concentration. Bellatrix was only just able to choke back her howl of fury by taking in his absurd appearance, and the knowledge that when He arrived, this young man would not likely be an irritant much longer. Still, she could not keep a bite of anger out of her tone as she asked, "Indeed? Is this what you would have done?"

The young man, a new recruit whose name she could not be bothered to remember, looked up as he finished and nodded vigorously. "Sure would! Tie up all loose ends, like. I mean, really," he continued, wiping the chalk dust from his hands onto his robes and carefully stepping outside the circle, "he got everything he needed, didn't he? Broke into the house, killed off the heir and the bitch, and got what he came for. What good's the whelp after that? It's just more trouble for us now, to set this whole ceremony up," he grumbled, waving his wand so that an immense, glowing pentagram suddenly appeared inscribed within the circle. That done, he looked behind him, frowning, for the great, weathered tome he'd been consulting earlier.

Bellatrix could feel Him coming, and could barely suppress her glee at the thought. She decided to play along with this cocky young fool a bit longer, let his crimes grow that much more unforgivable. "Surely the Dark Lord must have had a reason, though?" she asked in a hard, sweet voice, her eyes glittering much too brightly for anyone to think the question innocent – not that they would if they knew of whom she spoke and had more than an ounce of sense in their fool skull. This wizard, however, only qualified for the former.

The book finally found, the wizard once more squatted on the floor, teetering awkwardly as he attempted to balance it on his knee and chalk strange characters along the circle's periphery. His words came disjointedly as he focused on these tasks, but no less earnestly. "Well, all I'm saying is I can't find reason behind it, no matter how hard I try. He's got Ravenclaw's slipper. The family posed no difficulties. And the enchantments he worked on it afterwards went perfectly! Everything was, well, perfect – it just seems foolish to have let the girl go."

"Does it really, Blaisdell?" The voice was soft, yet seemed to permeate the entire room.

Bellatrix turned joyfully to see the Dark Lord advancing upon them, the door to the room shutting as silently as it had opened. Blaisdell had gone suddenly pale, and a strangled sort of squeak escaped his throat. His knees trembled till they buckled at last, and he sat kneeling on the floor, the book slipping off his lap to smudge the chalk circle where he sat.

The Dark Lord's eyes, however, were focused entirely on the people before him, and Bellatrix sank into a deep curtsey, her eyes dropping to the floor. "My Lord, I wish to sincerely apologize for letting this treason go unchallenged. I thought it best to leave him for You to deal with personally, as difficult as it was to restrain my desire to punish him."

A cold finger pressed beneath her chin, pushing her head upward, and Bellatrix barely repressed a shiver as she looked up to meet His gaze. "I know well of your loyalty, Mrs. Lestrange," Voldemort said softly, and Bellatrix carefully shut her mind against any implications His choice of name here might suggest. "Indeed, I know better than to believe this lapse is indicative of any failure on your part. And I am quite ready to, as you say… deal with him personally."

The screams only lasted a minute or so; she could tell He was impatient to get on with the spell. Still, he hesitated a moment, before turning back to her. "I won't deny, Bella, that I have been less than forthcoming in my reasons for pursuing what should be long-forgotten history."

"One such as him has no right to know," Bellatrix said fervently.

"Indeed… but you, of course, rank far above him." Her skin prickled. "You know, of course, that I pursued the Featherstones in order to obtain the slipper of Rowena Ravenclaw, handed down to the man by virtue of his lineage to her. He was of no use to the wizarding community at any rate – the traitor went and married a complete Mudblood woman, not a drop of magic in her veins."

"And pregnant with a second monstrosity," Bellatrix spat, feeling the nausea rise in her stomach at the thought of such an abomination.

"The man seemed to think his wife's condition might make me grant her mercy." Voldemort smiled again here as a wild bark of laughter burst from Bellatrix's lips. "Quite a wreck when she fell. He told me he'd give me the slipper, he'd do anything, if only I'd spare his little girl. I humored him – I said I would, before killing him in turn. I was feeling generous that day, to be honest: I figured I'd show the child what death looked like, so she'd know what to expect.

"But I did not foresee one difficulty. A charm had been placed over the slipper, so that it can only be given by one who is descended from its original owner, one such who freely chooses to do so; it cannot be taken by anyone unrelated to Ravenclaw. I discerned this easily enough by a few quick spells, after being unable to pick up the slipper on my own. I asked the child to give it to me. She was hysterical, confused by the sight of her parents on the floor; she was barely three years old. It did not take long for her to obey.

"I realized the time might come again when I needed the child to procure the slipper for me. I planned to turn it into a Horcrux by her father's death, and place it somewhere safe for a long time. But what if it did not recognize me should I need to move it, and what if it then refused to let me move it? While no one else can take it, they could certainly find a way to destroy it from a distance, should its existence and location be discovered. And I fear that time has come- I have reason to believe that the Potter boy knows of my Horcruxes."

"So you need the girl now, so that she may retake the slipper for you, and place it elsewhere," Bellatrix said.

"Precisely. Instead of killing her, I placed her in a universe parallel to ours, where she would be easy to spot when needed and yet quite out of my way here. And that, dear Bella, is why I asked you and Blaisdell to prepare this place for the Transplana Conduit. Now, if you will step back, and please be ready to subdue her once this is completed…"

With these words, the Dark Lord stepped into the center of the circle, and raised his hands. A cold, blue-white light arose from the markings below him, and Bellatrix watched, transfixed, as the image of those markings was projected perfectly on the ceiling. Had any of the few people in their vicinity been looking up, they'd have been surprised to see that pattern reflected yet again on the clouds towering miles above. Its effects, however, were felt much more strongly in a place even more far-off…

÷÷÷

Rebecca Stone couldn't sleep. This was hardly new to her; ever since she was about eleven, she'd been prey to migraines that only seemed to grow worse with each increasing year. Her parents had taken her to innumerable doctors, therapists, nutritionists and more, all of whom had been baffled and embarrassed after months of fruitless treatment, to the point where she'd just thrown up her hands and decided to live with it. Still, she couldn't remember the last time she'd had one this persistent, not to mention this fierce.

The twenty-two-year-old sat up in bed wearily, rubbing her eyes and kicking the covers aside. What to do, what to do... Maybe she'd do some reading? Even before her eyes fell on the copy of _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone _her old roommate at uni had lent her, she knew better. Somehow, picking up that book always seemed to bring on a particularly strong migraine. As a result, she seemed to be one of only a handful of people in the world who'd never read any of the books. She knew bits of the plot, of course – the boy hero, his cruel arch-nemesis, and something called a Tonks, who was either adorable or the root of all evil, depending on who you spoke to.

Standing, she stretched the kinks out of her tall frame, then wandered to the small kitchen of her flat, twisting her tangled, caramel-colored curls into a loose bun. Maybe she'd at least get a good cup of tea out of this.

As she snapped on the light, however, Rebecca gasped in pain. A searing, stabbing sensation pulsed in a straight line between her temples, throbbing worse than anything she'd felt before, till the room blurred unrecognizably before her. Stumbling forward, she grabbed at the refrigerator door for support, half-falling when the door popped open.

There are many things one might expect to see when a refrigerator door is opened, including but not limited to sandwich components, leftover lo mein, and a lack of milk. Rebecca anticipated all of these, and was almost stunned enough to forget her pain when instead she was confronted by darkness.

Inky, black darkness, extending back infinitely, strewn with countless tiny, twinkling lights. Lights rearranging themselves into a shape, like a star in a circle… pentacle? Was that the word? Was she hallucinating or something? If she was, it was pretty bad, because Rebecca suddenly realized she was being drawn into the doorframe, toward the encircled star, her fingers straining to clutch the cold metal frame and pull herself back out.

Whatever the symbol was, she was terrified of it. Obviously, one does not want to be sucked into one's refrigerator during the course of a hallucination, but even if this was for real, Rebecca was inexplicably terrified. There was someone – something – terrible waiting for her behind the circle. She could not be drawn in - she couldn't…

But the force was irresistible. Her fingers gave way, and Rebecca drifted toward the circle, which seemed to extend back indefinitely, tunnel-like. Her sense of terror increased, and she flailed helplessly, shivering with cold all the while. It was so cold. So frightening. She had to escape…

And then, just as she was about to enter the tunnel, Rebecca saw it. A small portion of the circle seemed blurred, as though it had been smudged or damaged somehow, and this part was suffused with golden light. She pushed herself toward it, moving her body as if swimming, and felt a glow of warmth coming from its direction. The pull dragging her into the tunnel seemed to sense her resistance and tug that much more firmly, but with a few last desperate strokes, she found herself entering the blurry region, soaking up the warmth… The pain in her head suddenly melted away in the golden haze, and Rebecca gasped in relief before passing out.


End file.
